Brothers and Sisters
by myboygeorge
Summary: The case takes one unexpected twist after another when a cheerleader is found dead in her room and her missing roommate is Greg's sister...
1. He Ain

Part 1 – He Ain't Heavy...

There was no greater night in Vegas then a Friday night. To some, it was Xanadu, Utopia, the Land of Oz, a 24-hours party that no one hand to worry about leaving early. It was possible to go to bed and wake up to the same party still going strong. Such was the case for April Winchester and Claudia Bennett. They were riding high the energy of the bright lights and the giddiness of three shots of vodka apiece. It was a pretty sweet deal. They'd come to Vegas for the NCAA Cheerleading championships, and some how the coach had waved a magic wand over the budget so that they could stay in the MGM Grand right on the strip. Imagine that! As they stumbled out of room 802, cackling like loons, the two girlfriends made their way to 814 down the hall. April tottered on her heels as she banged on the door.

"Miranda!" she called. "Come get wasted with us!"

No answer came from within. April knocked again, harder as Claudia began to hum _We are the Champions_ by Queen under her breath.

"Miranda! You got a guy in there or something?"

Claudia laughed at this. "Or a girl?" she added teasingly.

When no answer came, Claudia tugged on April's arm. "Come on, everyone's waiting for us." They stepped onto the elevator, prepared to go for a night on the town. Friday night in Vegas promised to hold tonnes of glitz and glamour.

And for others, like Greg Sanders, miles away in the cool, 72-degree break room of the CSI lab, the night could be not as glamorous but just as exciting. His little Gizmo, his baby sister Renee was in town with her cheerleading squad, and in a matter of minutes, he'd be off to pick her up at the MGM and have a real dinner with her. She was so busy of late that it was impossible to get her to answer an email, but granted, she was finishing her doctoral in psychology. It still blew him away that she had done so much in such a short space of time. The girl was a freaking genius, she'd graduated high school at sixteen and had finished her undergrad, a two year masters program and was about to finish her doctoral all before she turned twenty five. It made him cringe to think he'd gone from his lowly bachelor's degree right to the work force at the same age but more often than not, that feeling was overshadowed by the great surge of pride he felt whenever the subject of his little girl came up.

Now, as he finished writing his report while listening to Green Day on his iPod, Warrick walked in, saw him bobbing his head along with the music.

Warrick couldn't help but smile. Some things would never change. Nick would perpetually be a blunder-bus with women, Grissom would never find the nerve to ask Sara out, and Greg would always love his punk rock music. He sat down at the table beside his co-worker – hell, beside his friend, Greg had somehow managed to become that annoying little brother to all the CSIs – reached over and pulled out the ear bud, causing Greg to look up.

"One of these days, Gregg-o, you'll have to learn to separate Marilyn Manson from Charles Manson."

Greg quickly shut his iPod off. "Contrary to popular belief, I am so much more then heavy metal. That happens to be a very riveting audio-book, the latest in latent print extraction techniques," he lied quickly, struggling not to flush and betray himself.

Warrick just shook his head. "You're a level 1 now, not a lab tech."

Relieved the moment had passed, Greg sighed quietly. "Never hurts to remember your roots. And besides, tech speak is a major turn on with the ladies."

At this, Warrick burst out laughing, then turned it into a cough when the boss man walked in, a large stack of files in hand.

"Greg, since it's a slow night, you're switching off with Nick. He just pulled a few doubles in a row, and you need the practice." Grissom then turned to Warrick. "You finished the report for the aggravated assault case?"

"Signed, sealed, delivered." Warrick passed the dossier over to Grissom, who promptly left. At Greg's curious look, he elaborated. "Turned out the imprints on the vic's face and torso were a match to the golf clubs found in his girlfriend's house, clubs that just happened to belong to her brother. Apparently big bro didn't take it too kindly when he found out his baby sis was knocking boots with his co-worker, so he used the guy's face to break in his new seven-iron. Takes all kinds to make a family, huh?"

Greg snorted, continued to write as he spoke. "

I don't know. I'm a pretty cool guy-" Warrick chuckled at this "-but when anyone of my buddies ever tried that with Renee, I'd lay down a bones crushing."

"Renee?"

"My younger sister."

Warrick then turned his attention back to his own report. "If she's anything like you, I'm sure you've never run that risk."

As the two CSIs worked on their reports, Grissom strolled through the lab, praying silently Judy didn't have any messages for him. It had been a hell of a week and his backlog of paperwork was enough to gag a maggot. Deep in his own thoughts, he would have bypassed the young woman at the front desk without so much as a flick of the eyelids had it not been for the direct albeit sweet way she spoke.

"Excuse me; I'm looking for Gregory Sanders."

Grissom turned around, felt his jaw nearly hit the floor. The woman was certainly young enough to be his daughter but as a scientist he could appreciate the great beauty of her face. The bone structure was immaculate, the deep blue-green eyes, the button nose, and the jaw-length swing of deep auburn hair were somehow vaguely familiar, but Grissom couldn't quite place it. She carried an oversized hobo purse, the same shade as her hair, and when she spoke, she flashed a smile revealing perfectly straight and blindingly white teeth.

If this was Greg's date for the night, maybe he didn't give his newbie enough credit. Grissom tipped down his glasses to look at her.

"You are?"

The woman nodded, the smile flashing again. When she spoke, her voice sounded like Minnie Mouse with a two-packs-a-day habit. "You must be Dr. Grissom. Gregory speaks very highly of you."

Grissom glanced down at the hand she offered. He accepted it, confused. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Oh, I'm his sister, Renee. Whereabouts can I find him?"

The stack of files on the desk made Greg want to whimper. He'd been so looking forward to the steak and baked potato with his name on it, waiting for him at the Navajo Grill. He could smell the butter as he pulled out his cell phone to call Nadine, the cute, cute nurse he'd met two weeks before, when he'd been dragged to Tina's hospital thing by Warrick as back-up in case he wanted to throttled any snippy doctor. Beside him, Warrick was reviewing the case synopses

"So which one you want? Suspected food poisoning on purpose or frat boy with a goldfish in his stomach?"

"First I have to call and tell my date I'll be a no show."

"Nadine?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to pick her up when I finished having dinner with my sister tonight." Greg stood up to excuse himself as he dialled Nadine's number.

"Typical mad scientist. You'd rather play with your chemistry set then spend fifty bucks on a meal with a pretty girl."

"Not now, Gizmo, I'm busy." The name didn't register with Greg, until he looked up, annoyance replaced instantaneously by sheer joy. "Giz, what are you doing here?"

Renee smiled as her big brother caught her up in a hug. "Last day of the cheerleading championships was today, and my girls won. They wanted to do the strip-crawl thing, so I thought I'd pop over and see if you could grab some dinner."

Torn, Greg squeezed his eyes shut. "Grissom just got me started on a second shift. How about dinner tomorrow? We'll hit the Orpheus, my treat."

Renee smiled. The last time her brother had treated for dinner had been when they found Jimmy Hoffa. "Yeah sure you will." Then she looked past him to where Warrick was still seated at the table, a look of pure shock on his face. "Who's the fan club?"

Greg turned around, saw Warrick all but drooling. "Oh sorry. Rick, this is my baby sister, Renee. Renee, this is Warrick Brown."

They ad-libbed hellos, the initial surprise gone from Warrick's face but still lingering in his eyes.

"Well, I won't keep you from working. I'm gonna go grab a drink at that place you mentioned, the Orpheus."

As Greg watched his sister leave, he turned back to where Warrick was gulping like a guppy on dry land.

"Clearly she's adopted."

As she sat down at the bar, ordered herself a whiskey sour, Renee couldn't help but grin. Seeing Greg at work was amazing, and the uber-cutie black guy he was working with – Warrick, Greg said his name was – hadn't stopped staring at her. Maybe she was much prettier then Kenny had realized. _Oops, don't go there, girl, you're well rid of him and you know it_. Then suddenly, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck start to prickle. Glancing to her right, she saw a man of about thirty five or so staring at her, as if puzzled by her appearance. He certainly was handsome, but Renee knew that handsome often went hand-in-hand with pure unfiltered trouble. His long fingers tapped the beer bottle rhythmically as he continued to stare. As the feeling of uneasiness grew, Renee stared right back at him.

"You looking to buy something Junior or just window shopping the candy counter?"

"No, not it's just…you look kind of familiar."

The light bulbs flashed on and off as crime scene photos were taken. The coppery smell of blood hit Warrick like a fist full of pennies as he entered room 814 of the MGM Grand hotel. On the bed, propped up like she was watching TV, was a young woman, the wound at her throat gaping open angrily.

"What do we have?"

Grissom looked up to see Warrick and Sara, field kits in hand, walking in the room. "Miranda Simpson, age twenty two, in town for the national cheerleading championships. Two other girls on her team notified hotel security when she wouldn't answer her door."

The words _cheerleading championships_ stuck in Warrick's brain like a bad noise.

"According to their initial statement," Grissom continued, "Miss Simpson was sharing a room with the coach of the team, and her current whereabouts are unknown."

Sending up a small prayer, Warrick walked over to the opposing bed, where a nifty little luggage on wheels was unzipped, and a convention badge carelessly tossed on top. Warrick put on his gloves, gingerly picked it up. The breath seemed to catch in his chest.

Staring back at him was a picture of Renee Sanders.

"She was at the lab earlier." Warrick said it so softly that he wasn't even sure he'd said it out loud. But he had, as Grissom's head snapped up in response.

"What?"

Warrick heaved a sigh. _Damn it_. "Renee I. Sanders," he read off the badge, and then turned it to Grissom for inspection. "Greg's sister is the girl who's gone missing."

At the noise near the door, both Warrick and Sara turned around. There stood Greg, his face ashen, his fists clenching and unclenching. No one said a word; the only sound was Greg's ragged uneven breathing.


	2. Where'd She Go?

Part 2- Where'd She Go?

As Warrick, Sara and Grissom worked their way through the crime scene, Brass and Catherine kept Greg at bay, trying their best to keep him calm, so that he wouldn't freak out. There was no way he could process that room, not when it was something so close to home. Trying to stay as calm as possible, Brass and Catherine had led Greg over to near the elevator lobby, speaking in low moderate tones to keep the nerves they both knew were shot to hell from fraying any further.

"When was the last time you spoke with Renee?"

Greg bit his fingernail, thought back to two hours before. "She, uh…she stopped by the lab around ten tonight, asking if I wanted to grab some dinner."

"Does she have any enemies on the team?"

"No way, everyone loves Gizmo, she's…she's a good girl. She never had any problems on the team, other then the typical girl stuff."

Catherine, being a female, asked the question she knew Brass would be too hesitant to ask. "Would it be possible that she met someone in the hotel bar, decided to have an out-of-town quickie?"

Greg's weariness turned to fury on a dime. The hands he was dragging through his hair stopped at the back of his head. "I don't appreciate your insinuation about my sister, Catherine."

Obviously having touched on a sensitive subject, Brass held up a hand to try and keep the peace. "We're just trying to eliminate possibilities. Is it feasible she went to a different bar or casino on the strip?"

"The Orpheus, maybe, I told her I'd take her there tomorrow night, maybe she went there to check it out herself first." Greg's hand flopped to his sides, the anger bubbling in his veins at full throttle now. "Or maybe whatever psychopath killed her friend took a trip down the strip and went after her."

Recognizing the signs, Catherine stepped in to cut him off. "Greg why don't you take a walk, let us talk to some people." At his protest, Catherine merely shook her head. "You're no good to us trying to process a scene like this if you're acting this way. Why don't you head back to the lab, I'll meet you there with surveillance footage."

Fuming silently, Greg stalked off, his field kit in hand, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet of the hallway. Shaking her head after him, Catherine went to the opposite corner of the elevator lobby where the two other young women who'd come back from their night out were being held with an officer.

Back in room 814, Warrick and Sara continued to process the scene. Warrick snapped various photographs of the room as Grissom bagged a bloody knife and Sara the vic's toothbrush and hair brush from the bathroom counter, then began dusting for prints. Warrick, who had switched to using the ALS on the sheets, tried to keep his thoughts from turning too dark by making light case-talk with Grissom.

"Do we have anything yet on Greg's sister?"

"Only that she is the coach of the team, she lives in Miami, and she she's doing her doctoral thesis in psychology with a focus on criminal profiling."

"You know all of that from the scene?"

Grissom gave Warrick a withering glance. "No, we had a conversation at the when she came looking for Greg earlier. You'd do well, my wedded colleague, to listen to a female when she's giving you details. Could save your butt one day."

Warrick could only roll his eyes. "Greg's sister is a smoking Nordic hottie, Gilbert Grissom is giving me marriage advice. Today is just full of surprises."

"The point is that if she's gone missing, chances are a masters psych student is not going to be a naïve little girl in a new city, she's going to be a critical thinker. She'd probably be very sarcastic and abrasive to whoever tried to approach her, using it as a defensive mechanism."

Sara caught the tail end of Grissom's speech as she came out of the bathroom. "Yeah, but what if that's our guy's thing? You know, maybe he likes a challenge?"

"This is all assuming that wherever she is, it's against her will. Could be something as simple as she met a guy and hasn't left his bed yet."

Sara slid her eyes over to Gil for a microsecond, murmuring, "Sex isn't always so simple to a woman," then let it go as she continued to process the scene.

Oblivious to Sara's sotto voce comment, he now focused his attention on the night stand, more specifically to an oily substance on its surface. Taking a swab, he sniffed it. It smelled slightly of sugar, like flat soda. Photographing it, he then noticed the deep gouges on the bedside table. In his head, he could see the fingernails of Miranda Simpson digging into the wood as she fought for her life. Behind him, Warrick snapped pictures of the room service tray and its half eaten contents.

"So person or persons unknown shared a meal with Miranda pre- or post-coital then Miranda's throat is slashed. Maybe our killer found out about the date and didn't like it."

Grissom shrugged as he stood up. "As George Eliot once said, 'Jealousy is never satisfied with anything short of an omniscience that would detect the subtlest fold of the heart.'"

Outside in the elevator lobby, Catherine and Brass continued to interrogate April and Claudia who were wiping off the print ink Catherine had smeared them with on wet-naps.

"It's just a standard procedure to eliminate you from the list of suspects," Catherine explained, packing up the ten-cards. "What time did you knock on Miranda and Renee's door?"

April shifted, shook her head to try and clear the last drags of rum out of her brain. "I don't know, around ten or so?"

"We were late meeting our girlfriends in the lobby to start the post-competition celebration. We'd just won our fourth straight title and hell, it's Vegas, and we wanted to live a little." Claudia rolled her eyes, as though annoyed by this turn of events rather then saddened. Catherine made a mental note of it. "Probably thought her true colours would come through if she got into the sauce."

"And what true colours might those be?" Brass asked sternly.

"The fact that she's a big fat dyke. Everyone on the team knows it."

April looked appalled by her friend. "Claude that's a horrible thing to say! She just died!"

Brass uttered a silently oath that this interrogation wouldn't be put on hold for a cat fight. "Miss Winchester, can you confirm that the deceased was a lesbian?"

April fidgeted, unsure of what course to take. "heard rumours she'd come out over the summer. It's a small school and things like that get out, but then at homecoming, I saw her making out with a bunch of different guys so I thought it was just people trying to freak the team out."

"Oh come on, April," Claudia whined, obviously at her wit's end. "Joining the cheerleading team, video taping at sorority and team sleepovers, always offering advice on lingerie to other women? That says rug-munch to me."

"Any idea who'd want to hurt her? Was she being threatened at all?"

April screwed up her face in concentration. "No. No clue. If she was gay, though, I think the only person on the team she'd trust enough to keep it a secret or to not make a big deal about it is Renee. Renee is cool about that kind of stuff."

As they made their way to Brass' car in the parking lot, having finished with the two ladies half inside the bottle, Catherine couldn't seem to let something go.

"Do you buy it?"

"Girls experiment a lot in college." Brass shrugged, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was with the subject.

"I mean Claudia's story." Catherine wrenched the passenger door open, got in. "They often say that vehement outward hostility to a personality characteristic is indicative of latent sexual attraction to said characteristic."

Brass turned the engine on. "You think Claudia's got some homosexuality issues?"

"Couldn't hurt to do a little investigating with the other girls on the team about her history." There was a long pause. "How do you think Greg is doing?"

Brass put the car in reverse. "Hard to say. Kid's never really been rattled on the job before, not like Sara or Nicky."

Catherine gave a half-laugh. "Yeah, there's a magnet for trouble. Some guys are just unlucky that way. We should head to the Orpheus, see if Greg's hunch was right."


	3. A New Angle to Make it A Tri

Part 3

Back at the lab, Greg stood alone in the locker room, carefully removing his vest, then shut his locker door. He stared at it for a humming three seconds before winding up his fist and socking the living daylights out of it. Then he sank onto the bench, burying his face in his hands, allowing the gravity of the situation to finally hit home.

How could this happen to him? He'd seen everyone else on the team go through unimaginable emotional horrors, but not him. He was probably the most emotionally stable member of the team, not to mention the least scarred. Now he was faced, by a set of rules and chances far beyond his control, with the possibility of losing his sister the way they'd nearly lost Nick the previous June. He prayed to God Renee wasn't living the same thing he had. Lost, terrified, fully conscious and aware of what was happening, knowing all the while, there was precious little she could do about it.

Unable to move, Greg didn't hear someone come in, until Catherine cleared her throat softly. He lifted his head from his hands, and just stared straight ahead at his now-dented locker with red-rimmed eyes.

"How you holding up?"

"I was six when she was born and I remember making this promise that no one would hurt her, nothing would happen to her," he said, in a voice that was not his own; it was huskier, thicker somehow. "She was always following me around, and when I left for college, it felt so strange not to have her there. She…" He broke off again as his throat closed up, and more hot tears slid their way down his cheeks.

The mothering side of Catherine refused to stand by and see one of her chicks so distraught. She sat down beside him, relieved when Greg instinctively leaned his head against her shoulder. She wrapped an arm around him, in a gesture of support.

"Why do you call her Gizmo?"

"Because when I got into trouble, she was always there to bail me out with some little gizmo or gadget. She actually figured out how to get my keys, which I'd locked in my car, with a hand-held can opener at the age of twelve."

Catherine laughed. "Well, now's your chance to help bail her out of trouble. I've got Archie with the AV footage from the Orpheus all cued up to look at."

They stood up, shared one more hug, which had Greg threatening to cut off her air supply he held on so tightly. Catherine merely patted him on the back.

"We'll find her Greg, don't worry."

Once in the AV lab, after a quick trip to the men's room to splash cold water on his red eyes, Greg turned all his energies to figure out what happened to Renee. Beside him, Archie tried to offer support.

"Dude, I am so sorry to hear about Renee. I got three sisters myself, I don't know what I'd do if they-"

"Let's just try to find her, okay?" Greg cut him off, his temper starting to fray with each more look or comment of sympathy.

They looked at the screen, with the frames showing Renee leaving her rented car at the valet parking. The time stamped indicated 10:07, so she'd gone right there after she'd left the lab.

"Okay, now fast forward to her leaving," Greg instructed. On screen, the figures moved at warp speed, which Archie slowed to real time when Renee emerged. Greg felt his neck muscles tense as he noticed she wasn't alone but rather with a man, whose arm never left her shoulders until he reached in his pockets for a valet stub, which he handed to the uniformed worker. A few minutes later, a black sports truck pulled up and Renee was escorted by her gentleman friend into the vehicle. The time stamp on the frame said 11:27. The prickles on Greg's neck stood at full attention as he noticed something familiar about the truck. Something a little too familiar for comfort. The tense moment was broken by the ringing of Greg's cell phone.

"I'll be in the break room, so come find me when you've got the plate info from our mystery vehicle."

Greg clapped Archie on the back as he left, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. Then he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the caller ID lit up

_Gizmo_.

He flipped it open, then all but ran to the break room, so that if the waterworks started up again – this time out of relief, not fright – no one would see him.

"Gizmo? Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Greg, I'm totally fine. No need to get all big brothery on me."

Greg didn't like the tone he heard in his sister voice. It was one he'd often heard with his lady friends after a nice sweaty romp through the sack. He'd only tuned out for a microsecond as she continued to talk to him.

"I'm just calling to tell you I can't make dinner tomorrow night. I…I've met someone, a very nice guy."

Greg clamped down on the irritation that was beginning to snap its teeth. "That's great Renee, but you're timing couldn't be worse."

The bounce left her voice as something registered with her. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, you're at work. I completely gapped out."

Greg found a chair, as his knees threatened to betray him. "No, it's just…" He was somewhere between relief that his sister was okay, and the focus on his job. He decided it would be better to come clean right away. "Renee, one of the girls on your squad was murdered. Your room mate, Miranda Simpson, she was found in your roomed with her throat cut, and no one had seen you for awhile, so probably a good idea to keep this dude on the kibosh until we…"

Greg trailed off as a very scared looking Archie rushed in, handed Greg a print out then rushed back out again. He scanned it quickly, and in those three seconds, whatever pretence of keeping his rage on ice for Renee's sake was gone. When he spoke to her again, it was through clenched teeth.

"I'm going to kick your ass young lady," Greg said, hanging up on her in mid-sentence, as he flew out of his chair. "And then I'm going to kick his."

The printout still clutched hotly in hand, he dialled Catherine's cell number trying to make sense of the information he'd just been given. The print out read:

2003 Chevrolet SUV  
PLATE NO:  
475 GZI

LEASED TO :  
Stokes, Nicholas W.  
D.O.B: 08/18/71  
Address: 455 West Desert Drive  
Las Vegas NV  
89117

FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT NIGHT

As she sat down at the bar, ordered herself a whiskey sour, Renee couldn't help but grin. Seeing Greg at work was amazing, and the uber-cutie black guy he was working with – Warrick, Greg said his name was – hadn't stopped staring at her. Maybe she was much prettier then Kenny had realized. _Oops, don't go there, girl, you're well rid of him and you know it_. Then suddenly, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck start to prickle. Glancing to her right, she saw a man of about thirty five or so staring at her, as if puzzled by her appearance. He certainly was handsome, but Renee knew that handsome often went hand-in-hand with pure unfiltered trouble. His long fingers tapped the beer bottle rhythmically as he continued to stare. As the feeling of uneasiness grew, Renee stared right back at him.

"You looking to buy something Junior or just window shopping the candy counter?"

"No, not it's just…you look kind of familiar," Nick replied sipping his beer, as he tried to puzzle it out. It was a combination of the eyes, and the nose, he thought. He'd seen them somewhere before.

Renee smiled back politely. "I doubt it. I'm from Miami and California before that."

Intrigued, bitten by the puzzle-bug of her, Nick rested on his elbow against the bar. "So what brings you to Vegas?"

Renee fought to not roll her eyes. Instead, she tried blunt honesty dripping with sweetness, a smile fixed on her face. "Why? So after we end up in the sack you can brag to your friends how you bagged a nurse or a teacher or whatever I happen to be?"

Nick put a mocking hand to his chest. "Ouch. Seriously let me guess. Company retreat and you're interning along for the experience?" When this elicited no response, he tried again. "Modelling convention?" Strike two, he thought, so I might as well go for broke. "Union meeting of women designed to make me feel like an idiot?"

Renee had to laugh at this last one. Relenting only a little, she combed a hand through her hair. "Close. Cheerleading competition with the added bonus of seeing my brother. He works in law enforcement so," she sighed, holding up crossed fingers, "hopefully I'll get to see him at least once this weekend." She picked up her drink took a slow sip. "I hope working in law enforcement has helped improve your powers of deduction."

Nick could almost smell his own fishy stench as he caught the bait she dangled, like a wall-eyed pike. "Now why would you assume I work in law enforcement, too?"

Renee smiled seductively, at least what she thought was seductively, then leaned in closer to him, so that she was almost whispering in his ear. "Well, it could be the striking physique, the penetrating and intense stare, but mostly, I think it's the fact that you're wearing a CSI Lab badge around your neck, Stokes comma Nicholas."

Nick looked down at his chest, and nearly burst out laughing at himself. He'd been in such a rush to get out of the lab, and find a place to grab a quiet drink; he'd forgotten to remove his ID tags. When he looked up at Renee, he could see she was struggling to keep from laughing as well.

_What the hell,_ Renee thought. She held out her hand for him to shake. "Renee Sanders."

"Renee," Nick repeated, liking the way it rolled off his tongue, so naturally. "Is that French?"

"Laplander," she corrected. "What's it like working in the CSI Lab?"

Now completely hooked, Nick took a sip of his beer. "Why so curious?"

"I gotta figure out something to do with my doctorate in psych when I'm finished in a couple of months, and I'm interested in the criminology field."

"You any good?" _Beautiful and intelligent_, he thought. _A very unusual combination for my track record_.

Renee looked him up and down, which made Nick very nearly feel like a piece of meat hanging in the charcuterie window. Then what happened next made him nearly fall off his chair.

"You're originally from East Texas," she began, "grew up on a ranch where you were most likely involved with horses on a day-to-day basis. . You played baseball in college but had to stop when you broke two fingers on your right hand and couldn't throw anymore. You belonged to a frat house, a Delta House to be more specific, and you love the work you do, but very rarely get a chance to date due to the time-consuming nature of your job. How'd I do?"

Nick was blown away. "That's quite impressive. How?"

"Well the twang in the voice is a dead give away. When you sit in your chair, you hold your body very still while your arms move, suggesting years of equestrian training. You hold your beer bottle like you're going to throw a curve ball, but your two fingers don't quite bend all the way, suggesting improper healing there. The pin on your jacket lapel is a pledge pin from a frat house, and when I mentioned you were still wearing your ID tags, you didn't take them off and stuff them in a pocket. The tone in your voice when you speak to me suggests you are interested to a level, intrigued by me at the very least, but it's been a while since your last date, otherwise you wouldn't have such an eager-beaver boy-scout attitude."

Renee picked her drinking up again, sipped with great relish as he stared at her open mouthed before a grin spread across his face and he nodded. There was definitely something about this woman. She couldn't have been more then twenty five, tops, but that smart-ass mouth combined with the blue-green eyes Nick could have swam in for days made him want to…well, he wasn't quite sure what, but the thoughts were definitely x-rated. Before he knew what he was doing, his mouth was open again.

"Why don't I buy the next round?"


	4. What do the Gods Have Against Nicky?

Part 4

Greg was wearing a rut in the break room floor when Catherine walked in. He was exhausted, his emotions having ran the full gamut tonight, but right now, he was stuck in turbo. Rather then being sympathetic, she took an annoyed stance, knowing it would get through better to him right now.

"So your sister's not missing, she just met a man, like Warrick said, and she gave you a courtesy call. That's a reason to take me away from processing a scene?"

Greg stopped his pacing long enough to thrust Archie's printout at her. "I had Archie run the surveillance tapes of the Orpheus as Renee was entering and exiting, and look who popped up like a greasy Texan Whack-A-Mole."

Catherine read over the paper, sighing. Nicky was a one in a million man, the kind who'd be struck by lightening twice without realizing it.

Greg continued his rant. "Here I am worried half sick out of my mind, like everyone else is, and she's playing 'where's the banana' with that SOB. What the hell is she thinking going off with a strange man like that? She wouldn't know a criminal from Adam if he bit her on the ass."

To give herself something to do, Catherine neatly folded the paper in half, then in half again, mentally noting Greg's violent outburst. "Yes we'll need to speak to her now that we know she's out of immediate danger, and I can do my best to keep it as quiet as possible within the team, but you need to simmer down." Catherine took a step closer, her voice dangerously low and calm. "She's not an errant little girl who needs protecting, Greg. She's a grown woman. Call her back; tell her we need her to come in for a positive ID on the body."

As Catherine left, Greg crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her back. Without looking back for an instant, she called over her shoulder, "I saw that Greg."

FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT EVENING

Nick lay on his side, in bed, facing Renee, who'd bunched the sheet up around her breasts. Normally, Nick liked to see long curling hair spilling over the soft naked shoulders of his sexual partners, but the short sassiness of the cut suited Renee's face some how. He had felt like a bit of an idiot when he'd asked her home after a couple of cocktails. And now, he was feeling like an even bigger idiot, realizing he had fewer deductive powers then he realized as she told him who her brother was.

"I can't believe I didn't put that together. Brother, law enforcement, Laplander, Sanders. You sure as hell don't sound like Greg."

Renee gave a careless shrug, scooted closer to him. "That's because as much as I love shrink-speak with colleagues, I know my cheerleading squad isn't exactly into the same stuff. Greg lacks that turnover mechanism, I think."

Nick smiled. As soon as she'd said it, he immediately made the connection, figured out that's why her face had looked so familiar. The second thought that had passed through Nick's brain was a quick mental image of Greg wrapping his bare hands around his throat. "So, if you're six years younger then Greg, how can you already be writing your doctoral thesis?"

"I skipped fifth grade, so I graduated when I was 16, and worked year round to do my undergrad degree as quick as possible, then got early acceptance into a dual masters/doctorate program."

"And how does cheerleading figure into all of this?"

"I went to university on a gymnastics scholarship-"

"Oh so that explains the flexibility," Nick interrupted, snuggling closer to kiss her.

"Then discovered my talents could be applied to cheer. When I couldn't cheer anymore as an undergrad, I was offered a position as a coach to help cover the bills." Renee paused then, sighed softly. "So how mad do you think Greg's going to be with me, sleeping with his buddy from the lab?"

Nick blew out a breath, relieved to hear he wasn't the only one with that anxiety. "Probably less then he will be with me. He'll see it as you being an innocent young thing I lured into my bed of sin with promises of candy." Off Renee's questioning look, he explained further. "I have five sisters, and my older brother was like a bodyguard to them."

"Well, in your defence, you didn't know I was his sister." Renee had a flashback to when she was sixteen years old, and a very memorable Thanksgiving moment. "And trust me, if he is, it won't be the first time."

Nick laughed at this. He brushed a hand over her cheek, then kissed her deeply. They'd known each other for a matter of hours, yet he felt like he could say anything, do anything with her. It was new and exciting, but at the same time, there was something else there, like a sweet homecoming. Inspired, he pulled her close, rolled on top of her and pressed a finger to her lips.

"No more Greg-speak," he said, then kissed her deeply, erotically.

They didn't leave the bed until over an hour later, when they both had a sudden craving for a loaded pizza. Renee redressed and wandered into the living room as Nick did the same, and placed the late-night order.

Once she'd left, Nick sighed contentedly. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, over a year at least, but there was something about Renee. A sudden thought occurred to him, that maybe he'd finally clued in to the difference between sex and making love with a woman. Maybe that's why things felt so different with Renee. He couldn't figure it out, but he had never fallen for a woman so hard, and so fast since…well, since Kristy. He'd been upfront about that with Renee, but rather then being disgusted by it; all she'd done was ask if they caught the guy responsible, telling him that he'd done the right thing. For the first time in his life, he felt like he didn't have to impress this woman; that he could just relax around her, and not go through a whole single-man routine.

When the pizza arrived, they sat in the living room watching Sports Desk, but Nick's attention was focused more on Renee as she chewed through her fourth slice. When she glanced over at him, she said, "What?" around a mouthful of green pepper and onion.

"I've just never seen a cheerleader eat with such gusto. Mostly they sip water and complain over their salads."

Renee swallowed the mouthful of cheese and sauce. "Ex cheerleader, I'm a coach now, and trust me, after nearly eight years of being deprived of all junk food; I've learned to pack it away."

"Why don't I take you out for Chinese then, tomorrow night? We can swing by your hotel room in the morning; you can pick up some fresh clothes and stuff."

"I was going to have dinner with Greg, but I suppose I can always make it lunch before my flight leaves on Sunday." Renee polished off her slice, and then looked around. "Where's my jacket?"

Nick pointed behind her head, a sheepishly proud look on his face. Renee returned and laughed at the sight of it, slung over a lamp where it had landed in the throes of passion that had begun once the front door was closed behind them.

"Now how did that get there," she murmured as she pulled out her cell phone from the breast pocket and dialled her brother's number. AS she sat down beside Nick, he automatically took her hand as a show of support.

On the other end of the line, Greg sounded like a panic-stricken papa. "Gizmo? Honey, you okay?"

"Yeah I'm totally fine, Greg. No need to get all big brother-y on me. I was just calling to tell you I can't make dinner tomorrow night. I…" Renee trailed off as she looked at Nick, a grin on her face. "I've met someone, a very nice guy."

"That's great Renee," her brother replied, making Renee's breath whoosh out, "but your timing couldn't be worse."

Renee held her free hand to her mouth. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot, you're at work. Did you catch a case?"

There was a small pause on the other end of the line. "No, it's just… Renee, one of the girls on your squad was murdered."

Renee's vision greyed as she squeezed Nick's hand tightly. She barely acknowledged Greg was still speaking to her.

"Your room mate, Miranda Simpson, she was found in your room with her throat cut, and no one had seen you for awhile, so probably a good idea to keep this dude on the kibosh until we…"

When her brother trailed off a second time, the panic immediately came into Renee's voice. "Greg? Are you still there?"

"I'm going to kick your ass young lady."

Renee's jaw dropped in shock, a hot blooming vine of…something filled her gut. She winced as the line went dead in her ear.

From the look on her face, Nick could tell something was up. As she lowered her phone from her ear, he stated the obvious.

"He knows, doesn't he?"

Then Nick got a second surprise of the night when Renee looked him in the eye, tears threatening to spill over.

"It's a little more complicated then that."

Grissom had seen countless bodies on Doc Robbins table, but there was something about this one he couldn't let go. Maybe it was because Greg's sister was attached to it. Instead of dwelling on the possibility of coaching his youngest CSI through something as horrible as losing a sister, Grissom forced himself to pay attention to the good doctor's findings report.

"Cause of death is a no brainer." Robbins sipped on his home-brewed cappuccino. "Exsanguinations due to the severing of the jugular and carotid arteries. But here's where it gets weird."

He shifted his weight, set down the coffee mug to point at Miranda's throat. "See the scratching around the wound? Looks like a fine tooth comb." Robbins picked up Miranda's left hand. "Some skin under the fingernails, but not enough to suggest a struggle, along with some wood chips. There was an oil substance on her shoulders and her back; I took swabs for you."

"Rape kit?" Grissom asked, holding out a hand for the swabs.

"Here's where it gets a little greyer. I did a standard kit and found no signs of penetration but plenty of sexual activity."

"Thanks Doc." Grissom tapped the file and swabs against his palms thoughtfully as he left the morgue. He was still engrossed in trying to put together wood chips and skin under the fingernails when he nearly ran smack into Catherine.

"I think we should send Greg home until this Simpson case is closed."

Grissom sighed inwardly. "I already gave Nick the night off, I need the hands. Besides it's his sister who's potentially missing."

"Not anymore. Got a courtesy call from his sister. Turns out she went to the Orpheus and ended up shacking up with a guy for the night, so I've let everyone else know the focus is now on the homicide."

Grissom stopped in his tracks. "Then why send him home?"

Catherine sighed at length. It was even worse then admitting she'd been involved with a suspect nearly a year ago. "Because the guy Renee shacked up with is the same guy you gave the night off to." As realization bloomed over Grissom's face, Catherine finished in a rush. "Renee has to come in and ID the body, so chances are, Nick will be with her."

Grissom sighed aloud this time. On the one hand, he was jealous that Nick could just randomly meet women; on the other, he wondered what the gods had against the possibility of Nick having a decent, non work-related private life. "Put Greg in a lab somewhere, have him run chemical tests on these," he suggested, handing Catherine the swabs. "I'll deal with the love birds when they get here."


	5. Brother, Down!

Part 5

Warrick ran a hand through his hair, studied the photos of the case, not bothering to look up when Sara walked in, papers in hand.

"So the only people who were in that room were Renee, Miranda, April and Claudia; which pretty much gives us nothing, since according to April's statement they were in their earlier that night."

Warrick squinted at the pictures. "Something's off. Her throat was cut right to left, right?"

"Right, with the knife we found on the room service tray. Right to left would mean that her attacker came at her from the front."

"And if she was incapacitated instantly, then how do you explain this?" Warrick passed her a photo.

Sara examined the shot. It was an indentation on the wall, about eight inches above the bed. She tried to puzzle it out. "Maybe when the killer repositioned her, he bumped her head against the wall."

"And the fact that it's eight inches above her head?"

Sara cocked her head to the side, scanning a glance over the other photos. "What if we're looking at it the wrong way? What if the killer made the indentation with his own head, during a struggle?"

"That's assuming a lot."

As he glanced up quickly, Warrick did a double take, as he saw Nick's retreating back on the other side of the glass, in the hallway. He couldn't see who he was with, but it was quite obvious that whoever it was, he had his arm around her – and Warrick was one hundred percent certain it was a _her_ – and they were moving quickly through the lab.

Renee had faced death before. She'd lost a good friend to a car crash in her senior year of high school, and had been present when one of her grandparents had passed on, but that was completely different then the chilly doom-like wash that came over her as Nick escorted her into Robbins' workplace. She felt his hand slid down her elbow, to grip her hand strongly as Robbins opened the refrigerated door and pulled back the sheet.

Renee felt the breath catch in her chest as she stared down as Miranda's chilled body. The impossibility of it reared up and grabbed her by the throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth as the tears she didn't even realize she was trying to holdback escaped out of the corners of her eyes. Nick immediately stepped up, wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders, a move that didn't go unnoticed by Robbins. Without another word, he shoved Miranda back into the cold unit.

"I'm sorry Ms. Sanders."

Renee and Nick both turned to see Brass standing behind them. He'd come in like a ghost. He held out his arm, in a silent gesture to lead them away from the cold sterile smell of death. Once outside, Renee was able to pull it together, to answer questions she knew would be coming as soon as Greg told what had happened.

"Are you up to answering some questions?"

Renee nodded, then looked at Nick. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll just be a few minutes."

Nick looked at her calmly. Right then and there he knew there was more to this woman then cheerleading and pizza. She had guts and more importantly she had strength. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Renee watched him walk down the hall, then turned her attention back to Brass, who'd pulled out his pocket notebook. "I last saw Miranda before I went to see Greg. I left around 9:45 and Miranda was watching TV in our room with Claudia."

"And had Miranda confessed anything…personal to you recently?"

Renee licked her lips, hoped it would ease the dryness. "If you mean did I know she was gay, then yes I did. I was one of the few people who actually knew. Many of the girls on the team had come to me and asked me if she was, but I respected Miranda's privacy." Renee twisted the chains on her neck around her fingers, an old nervous habit. "They assumed she'd come to me as an athlete, not as a counselling patient. We spoke about it in session at the student centre where I do some clinical work."

Brass just continued to make notes. "So as her shrink, you couldn't tell them no matter how hard they pressed."

"I told Claudia and April that it was Miranda's decision whether or not she would tell them, not mine. I couldn't betray her trust, as her counsellor, and more importantly as her friend. But some how, it got out. How I don't know, but after last summer, the entire team started calling her Lesbo, and other stuff."

"Did she have problems with Claudia or April?"

"They were the closest thing she had to friends on the team." Renee shook her head. "They were the only ones who didn't ostracize her."

Greg had been sequestered – partly by his own accord, partly by Catherine's – into a quiet section of the lab, working on swabs they collected from the scene. Then when he was glancing up from the microscope, he saw Nick go walking past, and his temper boiled over. Snapping off his latex gloves, he went to confront this man, whom he had trusted with all his life. There was more then a little hell to pay.

Back in the work room, Warrick and Sara had finally vetoed out nearly all possible scenarios, leaving themselves with only a few plausible options. Sara braced her hands against the table as she recapped the one on the top of the list.

"So if I have this right, the assailant was a lover and this was a rendezvous gone badly?"

"How else would you explain the—"

Warrick was cut off by a sudden violent crash of metal on tile and Greg's raised voice. Rushing out of the work room, with Sara hot on his heels, he found something he never thought he'd see in his life: Greg Sanders, fit to pound in Nick Stokes' face. The two men were toe-to-toe, with Greg becoming more and more agitated by the microsecond.

"You got some nerve, man, doing that to me. You think I wouldn't figure it out? You think I wouldn't know?" Why don't you try thinking above your belt for once?"

Before Greg could pop Nick right in the nose, Warrick stepped between them, placing a hand on Greg's chest to try and get him to back off.

"Hey, come on man," he placated, "what's Nicky ever done to you?"

Greg slipped past Warrick's guard, and shoved Nick back a full step. "Bet you had a good laugh over it too, when you found out you she was my sister. Just something else to hold over my head; make me look even more like an idiot?"

Nick was trying to keep his cool, vowing to not fight back, since Greg was obviously not thinking straight. "The only person doing that here is you, and you're embarrassing Renee on top of it. Renee had to come in and identify Miranda's body. I came with her for emotional support," he started to explain as calmly and rationally as possible.

This was enough for Greg to see red, literally. He flew at Nick, lunging like a wrestler, wanting to break every bone in the Texan's smug face. Warrick managed to get a hold of him, leaving Nick room to back up a few steps. Voices flew, shouting accusations, lies and half-truths.

Thankfully, by this time, Grissom and Catherine had also come running at the sound of the commotion, shouting for the men to break it up. It took both Warrick and Grissom to restrain Greg; he was a wiry little dude when he was fired up. Grissom stepped in as the voice of reason.

"We were all worried about your sister, Greg, but that is no reason to attack Nick," he said with some strain, as he concentrated his efforts on keeping Greg held back. Finally, Greg stopped wrestling; they loosened their grip on his clothes. He looked around, nostrils flaring when Renee appeared between Catherine and Nick. Going with his emotions, angry as a stomped-on frog, Greg saw the only way to justify his actions was by punishing his sister at the same time. Wiggling loose, he adjusted his coat.

"Easy for you to say, Gris, when it's not…"

Renee and Catherine exchanged a quick glance. Greg wouldn't dare say it…would he? They couldn't risk it, so they spoke at the same time, hoping it would prevent him from saying a thing.

"Greg I am warning you."

"Don you even think about it."

"Your sister Nick Stokes has been sticking it to all night," Greg finished on a heaving breath.


	6. What Have I Done?

Part 6

There was only silence, saving for Renee's gasp of indignation. Greg scanned his colleagues' faces: Sara had been rendered speechless, while the rest simply looked like that wanted to eat him alive. Then he turned to face his sister, and realized he'd made a major faux-pas. Normally, Renee would have just kicked right back; this time however, there were no quick comments, only a glistening of embarrassed tears in her eyes as she rushed hurriedly from the group.

Beside him, Nick scrubbed his hands over his face, and then spread his arms wide. "You satisfied now, Greg?" Nick didn't bother waiting for an answer; he merely went after Renee, who'd taken off to presumably the break-room.

As what he'd done sunk in, Greg turned around to face his bosses. Grissom looked merely amused, but Catherine, oh, there was no mistaking the look on her face.

"You're on suspension Greg, until this case is solved."

Greg stared in disbelief at Catherine. "What? Oh come on!"

"She's right Greg," Grissom agreed. "Collect your things out of the break room, but if Renee and Nick are in there, and you so much as breathe on them, the suspension will be extended."

In the break room, Renee was struggling not to find something to throw at a wall, to hear something break wide open and spill out as her personal life had just been, thanks to her big bro. How dare he? Where did he get the nerve to do something like that to her? Had he ever come to her place of business as a patient or in need of someone to talk to, only to have her spill his guts like fertilizer for everyone to see and hear?

At the creak of the door opening, she whipped around, ready to spew venomous threats that instantly dissolved on her tongue when she saw Nick, an apologetic look on his face. He crossed to her without a word, embracing her tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Nick, he has no right to act that way."

Nick smiled against her shoulder, not wanting to let her go. "It's okay he's your big brother, he's got a right to know." _But not about my personal life,_ he added silently.

"Yeah, but humiliating us in front of your co-workers? You already had your personal life laid out once when Kristy-"

"We've talked about that, Renee, this is a totally different situation," he said in a firm voice. He did not want to compare the two women, not right now…or ever.

"Even so, it's your life on display in the lab."

Touched by her consideration for his well-being over hers, Nick pulled back, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her mouth lightly. She put her hands over his wrists gently, as if not wanting to let him go. It was so strange, they'd met in a bar only three or four hours before, yet being with him…fit. Deciding to take that risk that most women who have deemed her suicidal for, Renee laid all her cards on the table.

"He will have to get used to it, to us. I don't know about you, but despite the circumstances-"

"Me too," Nick cut her off, a wave of relief tumbling down his back, glad to know that he wasn't the only one thinking that this night, even with all the other crap that had passed, was a one-in-a-lifetime night. Had he been superstitious he'd have called it fate or karma or even worse destiny, but having her at his office, in his home, in his bed didn't feel like some tawdry affair. It had felt like putting on a favourite pair of shoes, at the perfect stage of being worn in so that they still gave the wearer a rush but at the same time didn't pinch or hurt.

Nick kissed her again, then took her hand. "Come on. Let's go home."

Renee grinned foolishly, liking the way that sounded. Then the giddiness in the pit of her stomach hardened to lead when she saw Greg slink like a kicked dog into the break room and head for the fridge.

"I'll meet you at the car. I want to talk to him first."

Nick noted the change in her voice, saw the light flatten out in her eyes. Without so much as a glance at Greg, he nodded then left, hoping that Greg wouldn't be minus an ear when Renee left.

Renee stared her brother down with an evil look. He may have been six years older, but he was still a man, after all. She cocked her head to the side, braced a hip against the table. "You come back here to slap my wrist a little harder?"

Greg wrenched the door open, pulled out his Arctic Zone cooler of the fridge. He couldn't bear to look at her just yet. "I'm on suspension; I just came to get my lunch out of the fridge."

"Good."

At that, Greg slammed the fridge shut, wheeled on his sister, temper blazing. "Good?" His voice rose by several decibels, but at this point, he didn't care who heard him. Gossip spread like wildfire in the bubble of CSI, the day shift would know about it before he could make it home. "Good? Because of you, I am going to be out until this case is solved. I'm losing money off my pay check and now in my file there's going to be a nice little note stating why I was taken off this case. You should have thought of that before hooking up with Nick."

"No, Greg, you're on suspension and losing money because you made an ass of yourself," Renee fired back. "You humiliated me and Nick because you're too immature to think of me as more then your little sister. This is not eight years ago, when you saw me kissing Tony Giancomo by the pool on Thanksgiving and you sent him for a swim."

Knowing he was losing ground, he struggled not to fidget on the spot. "You're not sixteen anymore, you can't keep snogging my friends."

"For your information, it was Nick who started talking to me, and started hitting on me. He had no idea I was your sister, and he didn't do anything I didn't want him to." When her brother paled at this, Renee simply sighed, switched gears. "Greg, you have to stop thinking I'm some lost waif who needs protecting from the world. I'm twenty four years old, almost twenty five. I'm an adult and I make my own choices. Now, if you'll excuse me, Nick is waiting for me."

With that, she pushed past him, went out the door, leaving Greg somewhere between the realms of protective big brother and first-class moron.

Back in their work room, Sara was still chewing over the nasty tableau as Warrick tried to concentrate on work.

"Boy, Nick really has trouble with the ladies?" she mused aloud to no one in particular.

"Let's just concentrate on solving this case." Warrick shook his head, not knowing whether he should sigh or laugh at Nick's misfortune. The man simply had no skills, none whatsoever. "So Renee left the hotel around nine forty five, and said Miranda was watching TV with Claudia." He flipped through Brass's notes. "Claudia leaves shortly after and fifteen minutes later she and April are knocking on her door."

"Time of death was established at ten-seventeen."

"And it wasn't called in until nearly two hours later, when another couple staying on the floor complained about the smell. Hotel security went in; found her with her throat cut."

"Claudia and April said they knocked on the door around ten then went downstairs to meet the other girls." Sara paused at this, then grabbed a stack of photos, flipping through until she landed on a specific one which she showed to Warrick.

"So why did Claudia go back up to their floor ten minutes after they left?"

"Look, I already told you, I left around ten with April."

The harsh glare of the interrogation room lights did not suit Claudia's Aryan complexion, especially since it was obvious she was both emotionally exhausted and fighting one mother of a hangover. She crossed her legs, tried her best to look like Sharon Stone in _Basic Instinct_, but Sara just thought it came off as tacky as she listened to Brass' questions.

"But you didn't tell us why you went back up to your floor ten minutes later," Sara said, cutting off another of Claudia's protests, showing her the photograph from the elevator surveillance.

Claudia stared at it, seemed to freeze up for only a second before settling into her routine again. "I realized I forgot my wallet and went back to get it. I didn't think it mattered I didn't say."

Sara bit her tongue to keep from asking what kind of college student could think that omitting information from the police because _they_ deemed it unimportant would help them out. "Actually it does, since it puts you within the vicinity of the crime at Miranda's time of death," she corrected.

"Wait, you're thinking I did it?"

"We talked to some of your team-mates," Brass replied coolly. "You and April were the only ones who seemed to tolerate Miranda's presence on the team. We also have reason to believe that you went into Miranda's room at some point during the night."

"You can't prove that." Claudia's voice became thick with panic.

Sara scanned the report from the file. "Actually, we can. We found skin under Miranda's fingernails and traces of saliva on neck. Both matched yours. We also took a sample of the mineral oil found at the crime scene, and it matches the same kind found on your hands."

By this point Claudia had lost all sense of pretext. She was on her feet yelling at the top of her lungs. "First I'm a murder suspect, now I'm a lesbian?"

"I think it's in your best interest to kill two birds with one stone."

Realizing the only way out of this painted-in corner was honesty, Claudia sat back down, gave her response cold and detached as a robot.

"After Renee left, Miranda and I started to fool around a little. Nothing major, like what had happened before at a few wild frat parties. Those hardly mattered; mostly everyone was so drunk they could barely remember their own names. She said she'd ordered room service but I had to get back, so that April wouldn't be suspicious of anything, since I said I'd be coming back when Renee left." Claudia looked from Brass to Sara. "I'm not a lesbian, I was just…experimenting. I left my wallet in my hotel room, so I went back up."

Sara nodded. At least they were starting to get somewhere. "So…what? The plan was for a late night booty call once you guys were back from partying on the strip?"

"Not ten minutes before she died?" Brass added.

"I didn't go to Miranda's, I swear," Claudia whispered.

Brass pulled out another sheet from the stack between his and Sara's elbows, a highlighted streak going through the middle. "You just telephoned her instead. Why?"

"I just wanted to make sure she knew I wasn't blowing her off."

Outside, in the CSI parking lot, Catherine heard a very odd sound as she returned from her coffee run. Jingling her keys, she walked over to Greg's SUV; as she approached she noticed the sound got louder. When she knocked on his window, and he rolled it down, Catherine was nearly lifted off her feet by the sounds of _SOS._

"Abba, Greg?" Catherine knew if she laughed now, it was all over.

"It's therapeutic," he said between clenched teeth. He couldn't bear to look at Catherine, not right now.

"Look, you know why I had to pull you off the case, Greg. If you can't maintain your objectivity-"

"Are you the younger sibling in your family, Catherine?" Greg suddenly cut her off.

"Yes, I am."

"Then you don't get it." With that, Greg turned on his car, and peeled out of the parking lot.

Greg was thankful his apartment was in the opposite direction the lab. He needed to get away, to wash the slime off his head and the egg off his face. Letting himself in quietly, he picked up his stack of mail, tossed his backpack on the floor by the couch. Listless, he wandered through the tiny kitchen and took a beer out of his fridge. As he twisted the top off and drank deeply, he looked at the pictures he had on his fridge. Most were of his friends from Stanford, on the retreat for New Year's with his frat buddies. Then he landed on the one of him and his sister. It was taken the summer after he'd graduated from college, and in this particular candid, she'd put him in a headlock.

Greg studied the picture for awhile. This was what his thoughts went to immediately when he thought of his sister, that goofy smartass who'd always managed to outwit him. Maybe that was part of the problem right there; maybe he'd needed something like tonight to realize, however rudely, that his sister was a grown woman with ambitions and desires and – God help him this one was a particularly bitter pill – sexual desires. He held onto the picture as he went over to the blinking answering machine and pressed the play button.

_Hey, it's Sanders, can't talk which means I'm probably out make Las Vegas a safer place one epithelial at a time_.

Greg stopped short when the voice came over the speaker, filling his apartment.

_Hi Greg, it's Nick. Look, I understand why things went the way they did at the lab, but ah, your sister's a good girl man, and…you'd be the last person she wants to piss off. Oh love the voice mail message_.

Greg closed his eyes as he pulled from the beer again. When he opened them, he looked at the picture again, then tossed it on the counter, set the beer aside and went to crawl into the shower to try and wash away his shame.


	7. A Confession

Part 7

Back at the lab, Warrick was hovering around Jacqui Franco like a hawk entrapping a mouse as she pulled up the print information on the case. Jacqui didn't mind; she'd missed her chocolate bear switching off from graveyard to swing shift yet again.

"I ran the ten cards against the vic's toothbrush and hairbrush, Claudia's prints were a match to the latter."

Warrick nodded. That made sense, given what Sara had told him came out of the sit-down with her. "What about the table knife?"

"Only one set of prints and they're not your vic's. But I did notice something else. Fingerprints left behind a very unique signature of oils, so I ran a sample." Jacqui handed him the print-out. "The keto acid levels were off the charts. I'd suggest going back and talking to your suspects again, and pay special attention to anyone with the sugar shakes."

"Sugar shakes?" Warrick repeated.

Jacqui nodded. "You know, headaches, shaking hands, extreme thirst, the works. The killer's a hyperglycaemic."

The following morning, Catherine and Brass found April making short work of the buffet in the MGM restaurant. They slid into the booth across from the cheerleader who appeared to have a ravenous appetite: her plate was piled high with bacon, fruits, fresh mini Danish, and Catherine counted three kinds of cheese, all washed down with a generous pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice. Somehow, even with her fork working double time, April managed to answer Brass' questions.

"Yeah, Claudia went back upstairs. Said she forgot her ID."

"When did you see her again?"

April shrugged, dragged a strip of bacon through a pool of ketchup. "Look, I was already half drunk, and I didn't happen to have a Felix the Cat handy."

"Give me a guess." Catherine fought hard not to roll her eyes.

"Around ten thirty, I think."

"Miranda Simpson died at ten-twenty. Ten minutes is more then enough time to clean up and head back downstairs." Brass paused, hoping his words would sink in. "And there is no footage of Claudia returning via the elevator."

"Our room was down by the stairs."

"That's a long hike. I saw the shoes you ladies were wearing, and if you're half as a drunk as you claim you were, she'd have a broken ankle walking down eight flights of stairs."

"So what? Claude's a cheap date; she probably thought walking would help slow her down some," April replied, finishing off her fourth glass of orange juice, something that made Catherine focus a little more. "Look, are we done here? I have to go make some calls to people back in Miami."

"One more thing," Catherine said, "Last summer, who told you the rumour about Miranda?"

April's voice was flat and cool. "Claudia. The girl's a gossip factory, so half the time I don't even listen to her."

"So Claudia admits she was with Miranda that night, but we've got no conclusive prints to suggest anything beyond a tryst," Sara said as she and Warrick walked through the halls of the lab, on their way to meet up with Catherine, she if she had found out anything useful. "Plus, hotel surveillance showed she used the lobby ATM at 10:18. No way can you make it down eight flights of stairs half plastered, across the lobby to an ATM in less then one minute.

"Plus, we've got nothing in the room to suggest anyone forced their way in," Warrick added.

Sara could feel the chill settling in on the case. "Did we look at the room service guy?"

"Elevator surveillance shows him back on the elevator at ten-fourteen, and he key-coded back into the kitchen at ten twenty-one. No prints matching his except on the room service tray."

They stopped when Catherine approached them. "Question," she asked rhetorically, "what's blond, weighs one hundred and twenty pounds and goes haywire when it has too much sugar?"

"Greg on Hallowe'en?" Warrick deadpanned.

"A diabetic. Our killer is with Brass right now, if you'd care to watch."

Inside the interrogation room, Brass stared April Winchester down. The blond was just as cool and composed as she'd been at breakfast.

"Look, I already told you I was downstairs waiting for Claudia."

"Strike one. You were downstairs together the first time. We have footage of the group of girls from the lobby and at ten-twelve, you took off upstairs."

"So what? Like I said, we'd had a few drinks. It's possible I went back upstairs, but my memory's a little hazy."

Brass stood, turned to face the one way glass, where he knew that the team and Greg's sister would be watching. "Here's what I'm thinking. You were suspicious of Claudia and April. Claudia had told you the rumour herself, so who's to say she wasn't the other party in Miranda's alternative lifestyle? You went back upstairs using the service stairs, watched as Claudia instead went into her own room." Brass turned back to April, rested his fists on the table. "But the hunch was too strong, and so you confronted Miranda, who told you Claudia's little secret. Unable to deal with the fact that your best friend would keep something like that from you, you attacked her with the first handy thing – the room service table knife – but you were so freaked out by what you'd done to her, you just carried on like nothing happened."

April did her best to give the veteran cop a withering stare. "It's a nice plot line for ABC, Detective. But this is not about Claudia and Miranda."

"No, this time it's about oranges."

Brass and April looked over to see Catherine walking in the room, a dossier in hand. "We found liquid insulin on Miranda's bedside table. You're a hyperglycaemic, so you'd need to be sure you kept that stuff handy in case you were going into shock. If you don't, the three best things after that are chocolate, honey, and orange juice. I noticed how you were guzzling it this morning at breakfast when we spoke to you. You'd missed your morning shot so you needed a booster."

April shrugged, though her bowels had gone icy. "I'm a diabetic. Me and how many other Americans?"

"But yours were the only unaccounted-for prints we found on the knife."

April's breath caught in her chest. There was no way out of this except for one very consequential option: the truth. Sighing only a little, she folded her hands on the table. "Have you ever been cheated on, Miss Willows?"

"Yes I have."

"So you can understand the shock and the humiliation of finding out your lover has not only a full meal in you but a side dish as well." April dragged a hand through her dishevelled hair. "I told her I'd only get involved if she could give me one hundred percent."

"So why take it out on Claudia's lover?" Brass asked. "You figure you'd silence her, and since she didn't want anyone knowing her secret, she was stuck with you?"

April gave him a look that was an odd combination of loathing and patronization. "Of course you'd see it backwards. You're a male." She turned back to Catherine. "I'd had my suspicions about Miranda and Claudia for awhile. But when she didn't come back right away when Renee left, I knew something was up. I was getting some ice down the hall and I saw her come out of Renee and Miranda's room. Then when Claudia came back to our room, I could smell that hideous smell of Miranda's mineral oil on her hands. I'd begged Mir to throw it out, but she claimed it was good for her skin, and she wouldn't part with it."

April sighed, slightly relieved but mostly scared to death. "When I saw her leave to go back up to the room, she knew I knew something was going on. So when I went to confront Miranda, and I saw that look on her face, my worst fear had been confirmed."

April squeezed her eyes shut. She could still remember the feel of Miranda's skin as they'd fought the mad grab at the knife on the table, the quick shaking drag around Miranda's throat. "Claudia and Miranda were two of the most connected people on campus. If it got around that I…"

"But it doesn't end there." Catherine shook her head. "You'd missed your nightly dose, which you'd set on the table, and you needed a fix. So you went for the first thing you saw, the fruit salad on the room service tray."

"Then you went right back downstairs and joined the party like nothing had ever happened." The thought of it made Brass sick. "Why did you come back early?"

"Claudia was sick, couldn't hold her liquor, probably worried I'd done something, so we came back to the hotel, and that's when I knew she'd been found." Satisfied she'd done the best she could do, April turned to stare at Catherine. "You know, this makes us like sisters, almost. Think back, Ms. Willows, to when you were cheated on. Weren't you ready to kill him? Or her? They used our love as a weapon against us, until we're left with nothing."

Catherine stood up to leave. "Except the difference between you and me is I walked away."

Outside, on the other side of the one-way glass, Renee stood shaking as she listened to April's chilling confession, surrounded by the CSIs. Beside her, Nick stood stoically, not touching her, understanding her need for space.

"There's going to be paperwork and jurisdictional things to sort out. But you'll be able to head home as planned tomorrow afternoon," Warrick reassured her.

The shrink in Renee threatened to take over. "Is it strange that I sympathize with both Miranda and April?"

"They're your friends Renee," Sara said. "What you feel about it is your business."

Just then, a small cough sounded behind them. All four turned to see Greg standing awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.

"Are you allowed to be here?" Renee asked her older brother.

"Grissom called said I'm off suspension."

Nodding, Renee rushed over to Greg, nearly lifting him off his feet as she hugged him fiercely. He was a special breed of knucklehead, but he was her big brother, and she'd known all along, he'd see the error of his ways.

"I'm so sorry Greg."

"No it's okay, you were right."

"Well of course I was right, you pinhead," Renee said into his shoulder. "I'm a woman, I'm always right."

Greg laughed, then looked at Nick, his face full of apology. "I got your message last night."

Nick folded his arms across his chest. Greg was not the sort of person to admit fault easily, and it was as close to a confession of wrong-doing as he'd come. Then Renee took a step back, looked at her brother.

"So, do you want to come out tonight? Nick's taking me to this Chinese place."

Though it cost him a small fracture on his heart, Greg shook his head. "No, it's okay, you guys…do your thing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, you're a big girl, you don't need me babysitting. Besides, I have a lot of work to catch up on here."

With that, Renee and Nick left, and as Greg watched them go, he realized with some trepidation that little Gizmo had somehow grown up on him. Turning back to Warrick, he adopted a more serious look.

"I want the case with the goldfish."

Warrick grinned; Greggo was back. "Too late, you're stuck with the poisoning."

"Well, I suppose I deserve that. Karmic payback and all," Greg conceded.

Sara grinned now too. "You don't know what payback is. It's only the first hour."


	8. The Beginning

Part 8

It was Sunday afternoon now, and Nick didn't realize fully how much of an impact Renee had had on him in the last thirty six hours, until she said that Greg was on his way over to pick them up to drive her to the airport. He didn't want her to go, and he thought this with more then a little sadness. True they'd already made plans for her to come back in two weeks time, but the thought of being away from her even that long made Nick want to pout.

As they sat waiting for Renee's boarding call, Renee tried to take stock of the weekend. Surely there was no other place in the world that a murder, a sordid love triangle and a near fist-fight could all fall under the umbrella of work.

"So what did you think of Vegas?" Greg asked wryly.

"I still can't believe all this went down. I mean I know it did, but…still."

Greg nudged her in the shoulder. "Oh come on, you got to see the maestro at work, got involved in a crime case-"

"Had my big brother threatening to beat the crap out of yet another boyfriend, and threatening to kick my own ass because I wasn't a hermit crab," Renee finished for him.

Greg's ears pricked up at the phrase _boyfriend_ usually this wouldn't have made much of a difference, but what was even stranger was that rather then going red and looking away embarrassed, Nick simply grinned. Then, Renee's boarding call was announced over the PA system. The trio stood up, with Renee and Nick looking at each other.

"Well," she began.

"I don't usually end my dates at the airport."

"Me neither."

As Renee felt her spine nerves begin to tingle, knowing what was coming, she glanced over at Greg. "Do you mind?"

Not cluing in, Greg continued to stand there. "Oh, no go ahead."

"Greg?"

All it took was one word from Nick that made him realize all he was missing was the popcorn. Muttering under his breath about finding coffee or poison, Greg retreated, giving Nick and Renee as much privacy as they could have in a crowded airport terminal.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

Renee smiled. "Hey, I'm back in two weeks, and this time I'll be herefor a full two weeks. We can have a real date, no big brother, no crime tape or late night visits to the morgue involved."

Nick laughed as he drew her close to kiss her. She was warm and welcoming, that same sweet sense of finding the piece he didn't realize had gone missing. When he broke the kiss, he whispered in her ear, "Te quiero, mi noruega encantadora."

Renee whispered back, "What does that mean?"

"I'll tell you in two weeks."

With that, Renee kissed his cheek again, shouldered her bag and walked through the gate.

Back at the car, Greg was waiting with two steaming Starbucks moccacinos. "So a boyfriend huh? Didn't think you did that whole relationship thing, Nick."

Nick took his coffee from his friend. "I don't but…" he trailed off, the taste of Renee still on his lips. "There's something about her that I can't pin down, man."

"Yeah well…look about what happened Friday night."

Nick waved him off, walked around the side of the car. "Did it ever occur to you in all your fraternal insanity that had I not been with her, she could be on the slab in Robbins' fridge?"

"Yeah, I did, but uh…" Greg flexed a muscle. "I could have taken you."

"With those chicken wings?" Nick laughed.

"I work out."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"No way."

"Yes way."

"Greg, little girls in fifth grade say 'yes way'."

"Oh, and just one more thing," Greg added as he started the car.

"Oh yeah what's that?" Nick sipped his coffee.

"My folks are starting to get antsy for grandkids." The muscles in Greg's jaw twitched as he held in laughter, watching Nick gag and splutter on coffee at this last statement, then turn a chalky white colour. When his colleague looked at him, a look of horror on his face, Greg simply shrugged. "Told you I could take you."

**The End**


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